"Thou wert the noblest king
On royal throne ere seen;

And thou didst wear in knightly ring,
Of all, the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are proved,
In war, the bravest heart,-
Oh, ever the renowned and loved
Thou wert,-and there thou art!

"Thou that my boyhood's guide
Didst take fond joy to be!-
The times I've sported at thy side,
And climbed thy parent knee!
And there before the blessed shrine,
My sire! I see thee lie,-

How will that sad still face of thine
Look on me till I die !"

Felicia Ilemans

THE BIBLE IN HARMONY WITH TEMPERANCE.

AND does that blessed Book of books, which none
But bold bad men despise, its sanction give

To poisonous alcoholic wines?

And

Can the Christian plead a Bible charter
For the use of that which history, science,
Reason, and experience, all combined
On amplest scale, have fairly, fully proved
To be inimical to man? Hath God
By inspiration taught frail, erring men,
To venture on an awful precipice,

Where danger lurks at every step? Hath be
Whose workmanship we are, no more regard
Or care paternal for his creature man,
Than thus to jeopardize, on ruin's brink,
The fair and beauteous fabric of his hand,
Whence shine creative wisdom, power, and skill,
In lines of brighter hue than all the vast

Of nature's splendid scenery can boast?

Can it be thought that He, whose boundless love
Evolved Redemption's scheme of grace immense.
And laid upon his own all-potent arm

The mighty undertaking-can it be

That He approves the use of that which tends
With constant, uniform, and powerful sway,
To mar, pervert, and frustrate all his work?
Did that same Jesus, from Heaven sent
On God-like mission of eternal love,

To spoil the powers of darkness, death, and hell,
And lift from ruin's vortex of despair,

A prostrate, helpless, dying, rebel world—
Did He, by precept or example, stamp

A signature divine upon that cup

Which, as a mocker sparkles to deceive?
Did He, the famous Galilean King,

When first He showed his wonder-working arm,
And poured the glory of his Father forth
At Cana's holy, blest, connubial feast,-
Did He the copious water-plenished jars
Defile with poisonous adder-stinging wine,
And paim upon that unsuspecting group
A serpent sparkling in a raging cup?
And did the holy, harmless, spotless Lamb
Who gave his life for all, a ransom vast,

And seal'd with blood the cov'nant of his grace-
Did he the parting cup of blessing' fill

With lust-inspiring wine? Did He command
His loved and loving ones to shadow forth

His dying passion and undying love,

By drinking at his sacred board of that

Which, as a second curse, since the old flood,

Has spread a tide of moral pestilence

O'er all the earth,-'neath whose corrupting stream

PROPHET and PRIEST and SAINT, have sunk o'erwhelm'd, And with unnumbered millions found, alas!

Perdition's deepest, darkest, direst hell?

Nay, Christian! startle not; no skeptic's sneer,

Or scowl of infidel, or jest profane,

Is couch'd beneath the queries now proposed

We take with firm confiding trust and love
The sacred volume, and revere the page
Whose hallowed verities unfold to man
His nature, origin, and destiny.
We joyously adore and venerate

The God of Heaven and earth, and lowly bow
Before His throne, as suppliants for His grace;
With faith unfeigned we take salvation's cup,
And call upon the name of Him by whom
Redemption's price was paid for all our race.
It is because we thus revere God's word,
And venerate our Father's holy name,

And cling with faith and love to Jesus' cross,
That we would seek to wipe away

The stain, which infidels would be well pleased to view
Upon the mirror of Eternal Truth.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.

Nor many generations ago, where you now sit, circled with all that exalts and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, the council fire glared on the wise and daring. Now they dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now they paddled the light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they warred; the echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all were here; and when the tiger strife was over, here curled the smoke of peace.

Here, too, they worshiped; and from many a dark bosom went up a pure prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written his laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew not the God of revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in every thing around. He beheld him in the star that sunk in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid-day throne; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; in the lofty pine, that defied a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler that never left its native grove; in the fearless eagle whose untired pinion was wet in clouds; in the worm that crawled at his feet; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that Light, to whose mysterious source he bent, in humble, though blind adoration.

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you; the latter sprang up in the path of the simple native. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the children of educa

tion have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. Here and there a stricken few remain; but how unlike their bold, untamed, untamable progenitors! The Indian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone! and his degraded offspring crawl upon the soil where he walked. in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck.

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever.

Charles Sprague.

BETSY AND I ARE OUT.

From "The Toledo Blade."

DRAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout,
For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are out,--
We who have worked together so long as man and wife
Must pull in single harness the rest of our nat`ral life.

"What is the matter," says you? I swan! it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
I have no other woman-she has no other man;
Only we've lived together as long as ever we can.

So I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me;
And we've agreed together that we can never agree;
Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime;
We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had, for a start;
Although we ne'er suspected 'twould take us two apart;
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone,
And Betsy, like all good women, had a temper of her own.

The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed,

Was somethin' concerning heaven-a difference in our creed;
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast-we arg'ed the thing at tea-
And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we couldn't
agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow;
She had kicked the bucket, for certain-the question was only
-How?

I held my opinion, and Betsy another had;

And when we were done a talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But for full a week it lasted and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I fretted because she broke a bowl;
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way;
Always somethin' to ar'ge and something sharp to say,-
And down on us came the neighbors, a couple o' dozen strong,
And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along.

And there have been days together-and many a weary week— When both of us were cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;

And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the summer and fall,

If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all.

And so I've talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me;
And we have agreed together that we can never agree;
And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;
And I'll put it in the agreement and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer-the very first paragraph-
Of all the farm and live stock, she shall have her half;
For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,
And it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead; a man can thrive and roam,
But women are wretched critters, unless they have a home.
And I have always determined, and never failed to say,
That Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken away.

There's a little hard money besides, that's drawin' tol'rable pay,
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day,—
Safe in the bands of good men, and easy to get at ;
Put in another clause there, and give her all of that.